Ballades  in  Blue  China 


A  BALLADE  OF  XXXII  BALLADES. 

Friend^  when  y»u  bear  a  care-dulled  eyt^ 

ylnd  brtiv  perplexed  with  things  of  weighty 
jind  fain  would  bid  some  charm  untie 

The  btnds  that  hold  you  all  too  straight^ 

Behold  a  solace  to  your  fate^ 
fVrapped  in  this  cover  s  china  blue; 

These  ballades  fresh  and  delicate^ 
This  dainty  troop  of  Thirty-two  ! 

The  mindy  unwearied,  longs  to  fly 

yind  commune  with  the  wise  and  great/ 
But  that  same  ether,  rare  and  high. 

Which  glorifies  its  worthy  mate. 
To  breath  forspent  is  disparate  : 

Laughing  and  light  and  airy-new 
These  come  to  tickle  the  dull  pate. 

This  dainty  troop  of  Thirty-two. 

Most  welcome  then,  when  you  and  7, 

Forestalling  days  for  mirth  too  late. 
To  quips  and  cranks  and  fantasy 

Some  choice  half-hour  dedicate, 
They  weave  their  dunce  with  measured  rate 

Of  rhymes  enlinked  in  order  due. 
Till  frowns  relax  and  cares  abate. 

This  dainty  troop  of  Thirty-two. 


ENVOY 

Princes,  of  toys  that  please  your  state 
Quainter  are  surely  none  to  view 

Than  these  which  pass  with  tripping  gait. 
This  dainty  troop  of  Thirty-two. 

F.    P. 


THE  LARK  CLASSICS 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 


BY 

ANDREW     LANG 


Godfrey  A.  S.  Wieners 

AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  LARK 
NEW  YORK 


UNIVERSITY    PRESS      •      JOHN   WILSON 
AND    SON      •      CAMBRIDGE,     U.S.A. 


TO 

AUSTIN    DOBSON 


"  RontUaux,  Ballades, 

CJiansons  dizains,  promos  menuSt 

Compte  tnoy  qu'  ils  sont  devenuz  .* 

Le/aict  U plus  rien  de  nouveau  f  " 

Clement  Marot,  Dialog^a  de  deux 

Amoureux. 


"  I  love  a  ballad  but  even  too  well;  if  it  be  doleful  matter,  merrily  set  down,  or  a 
very  pleasant  thing  indeed,  and  sung  lamentably." 

A  Winter's  Tale,  Act  IV.  sc.  3. 


2050200 


Preface 

.  .  .  As  a  writer  of  charming  prose  and  equally  dainty 
verse,  Andrew  Lang  is,  perhaps,  without  a  superior  to- 
day. Few  writers,  moreover,  have  been  more  prolific  or 
have  ranged  in  a  larger  field,  for  to  his  credit  must  be 
placed  volumes  of  poetry,  essays,  biographies,  transla- 
tions, and  folk  stories.  Born  in  Scotland  in  1844,  and 
graduating  at  Oxford,  for  over  twenty-five  years  he  has 
labored  so  diligently  with  his  pen  that  few  of  his  contem- 
poraries are  more  deservedly  popular,  while  none  is  more 
prominent.  While  not  a  writer  of  any  particular  depth,  his 
books  have  all  appealed  to  the  discriminating  public ;  and 
his  carefully  edited  fairy  stories  (the  Blue,  the  Red,  the 
Green,  the  Yellow,  the  Pink,  the  Grey,  and  the  Violet 
Fairy  Books)  have  more  than  endeared  him  to  that  most 
clear-visioned  body  of  critics  —  the  English  speaking  chil- 
dren of  two  continents.  Among  the  most  popular  of  Mr. 
Lang's  works  are  the  "Letters  to  Dead  Authors  "  (1886), 
"Essays  in  Little"  (1891),  his  charming  translation 
of  "Aucassin  and  Nicolete  "  (1887),  and  the  following 
collection  of  verses,  printed  originally  in  1881.  .  .  . 


Contents 

Page 

Ballade  to  Theocritus,  in  Winter 3 

Ballade  of  Cleopatra's  Needle 5 

"  Roulette 7 

"  Sleep 9 

"  the  Midnight  Forest 12 

"  the  Tweed 14 

"  the  Book- Hunter 16 

"  the  Voyage  to  Cythera 18 

"  the  Summer  Term 20 

"  the  Muse 22 

against  the  Jesuits 24 

of  Dead  Cities 26 

"  the  Royal  Game  of  Golf 28 

Double  Ballade  of  Primitive  Man  .......  30 

Ballade  of  Autumn 33 

"       "  True  Wisdom 35 

"       "  Worldly  Wealth 37 

"       "Life 39 

*'       "  Blue  China 41 

ix 


Contents 

Pagb 

Ballade  of  Dead  Ladies 43 

Villon's  Ballade 45 

Ballade  of  Rabbits  and  Hares 47 

Valentine  in  Form  of  Ballade 49 

Ballade  of  Old  Plays 51 

'*  His  Books 53 

"  Esthetic  Adjectives 55 

"  the  Pleased  Bard 57 

for  a  Baby 59 

Amoureuse 61 

of  Queen  Anne 63 

"  Blind  Love 65 

*'  His  Choice  of  a  Sepulchre 67 

Dizain 69 


VERSES   AND   TRANSLATIONS 

A  Portrait  of  1783 73 

The  Moon's  Minion 76 

In  Ithaca 78 

Homer 79 

The  Burial  of  Moliere 80 


Contents 

Page 

Bion 8i 

spring 82 

Before  the  Snow 83 

Villanelle 84 

The  Mystery  of  Queen  Persephone 86 

Stoker  Bill 91 

Natural  Theology 94 

The  Odyssey 95 

Ideal 96 


XI 


BALLADES    IN    BLUE    CHINA 


BALLADE  TO  THEOCRITUS,  IN  WINTER 

Id.  VIII.  56. 

AH  !   leave  the  smoke,  the  wealth,  the  roar 
Of  London,  and  the  bustling  street, 
For  still,  by  the  Sicilian  shore, 
The  murmur  of  the  Muse  is  sweet. 
Still,  still,  the  suns  of  summer  greet 
The  mountain-grave  of  Helik^, 
And  shepherds  still  their  songs  repeat 
Where  breaks  the  blue  Sicilian  sea. 

What  though  they  worship  Pan  no  more. 
That  guarded  once  the  shepherd's  seat, 
They  chatter  of  their  rustic  lore, 
Cicalas  chirp,  the  young  lambs  bleat, 
Where  whispers  pine  to  cypress  tree ; 
They  count  the  waves  that  idly  beat 
Where  breaks  the  blue  Sicilian  sea ! 
3 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 


Envoy 

Master,  —  when  rain,  and  snow,  and  sleet 
And  northern  winds  are  wild,  to  thee 
We  come,  we  rest  in  thy  retreat. 
Where  breaks  the  blue  Sicilian  sea ! 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 


BALLADE  OF  CLEOPATRA'S  NEEDLE 

YE  giant  shades  of  Ra  and  Turn, 
Ye  ghosts  of  gods  Egyptian, 
If  murmurs  of  our  planet  come 
To  exiles  in  the  precincts  wan 
Where,  fetish  or  Olympian, 
To  help  or  harm  no  more  ye  list, 
Look  down,  if  look  ye  may,  and  scan 
This  monument  in  London  mist ! 

Behold,  the  hieroglyphs  are  dumb 
That  once  were  read  of  him  that  ran 
When  seistron,  cymbal,  trump,  and  drum 
Wild  music  of  the  Bull  began ; 
When  through  the  chanting  priestly  clan 
Walk'd  Ramses,  and  the  high  sun  kiss'd 
This  stone,  with  blessing  scored  and  ban  — 
This  monument  in  London  mist. 
5 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 

The  stone  endures  though  gods  be  numb ; 
Though  human  effort,  plot,  and  plan 
Be  sifted,  drifted,  like  the  sum 
Of  sands  in  wastes  Arabian. 
What  king  may  deem  him  more  than  man, 
What  priest  says  Faith  can  Time  resist 
While  this  endures  to  mark  their  span  — 
This  monument  in  London  mist? 

Envoy 

Prince,  the  stone's  shade  on  your  divan 
Falls;   it  is  longer  than  ye  wist: 
It  preaches,  as  Time's  gnomon  can, 
This  monument  in  London  mist. 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 

BALLADE   OF   ROULETTE 
To  R.  R. 

THIS  life  —  one  was  thinking  of  to-day, 
In  the  midst  of  a  medley  of  fancies  — 
Is  a  game,  and  the  board  where  we  play 
Green  earth  with  her  poppies  and  pansies. 
Let  inauqne  be  faded  romances, 
Be  passe  remorse  and  regret ; 
Hearts  dance  with  the  wheel  as  it  dances  — 
The  wheel  of  Dame  Fortune's  roulette. 

The  lover  will  stake  as  he  may 
His  heart  on  his  Peggies  and  Nancies; 
The  girl  has  her  beauty  to  lay ; 
The  saint  has  his  prayers  and  his  trances ; 
The  poet  bets  endless  expanses 
In  Dreamland;  the  scamp  has  his  debt: 
How  they  gaze  at  the  wheel  as  it  glances  — 
The  wheel  of  Dame  Fortune's  roulette  ! 
7 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 

The  Kaiser  will  stake  his  array 

Of  sabres,  of  Krupps,  and  of  lances ; 

An  Englishman  punts  with  his  pay, 

And  glory  th^jeton  of  France  is; 

Your  artists,  or  Whistlers  or  Vances, 

Have  voices  or  colours  to  bet ; 

Will  you  moan  that  its  motion  askance  is 

The  wheel  of  Dame  Fortune's  roulette  ? 


Envoy 

The  prize  that  the  pleasure  enhances? 
The  prize  is  —  at  last  to  forget 
The  changes,  the  chops,  and  the  chances 
The  wheel  of  Dame  Fortune's  roulette. 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 


BALLADE   OF   SLEEP 

THE  hours  are  passing  slow, 
I  hear  their  weary  tread 
Clang  from  the  tower,  and  go 
Back  to  their  kinsfolk  dead. 
Sleep  !  death's  twin  brother  dread  ! 
Why  dost  thou  scorn  me  so? 
The  wind's  voice  overhead 
Long  wakeful  here  I  know, 
And  music  from  the  steep 
Where  waters  fall  and  flow. 
Wilt  thou  not  hear  me,  Sleep  ? 

All  sounds  that  might  bestow 
Rest  on  the  fever'd  bed, 
All  slumb'rous  sounds  and  low 
9 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 

Are  mingled  here  and  wed, 
And  bring  no  drowsihed. 
Shy  dreams  flit  to  and  fro 
With  shadowy  hair  dispread ; 
With  wistful  eyes  that  glow, 
And  silent  robes  that  sweep. 
Thou  wilt  not  hear  me;   no? 
Wilt  thou  not  hear  me,  Sleep? 


What  cause  hast  thou  to  show 
Of  sacrifice  unsped? 
Of  all  thy  slaves  below 
I  most  have  laboured 
With  service  sung  and  said ; 
Have  cull'd  such  buds  as  blow, 
Soft  poppies  white  and  red, 
Where  thy  still  gardens  grow, 
And  Lethe's  waters  weep. 
Why,  then,  art  thou  my  foe  ? 
Wilt  thou  not  hear  me,  Sleep  ? 

lO 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 

Envoy 

Prince,  ere  the  dark  be  shred 
By  golden  shafts,  ere  low 
And  long  the  shadows  creep ; 
Lord  of  the  wand  of  lead, 
Soft-footed  as  the  snow, 
Wilt  thou  not  hear  me,  Sleep ! 


XI 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 

BALLADE   OF  THE   MIDNIGHT  FOREST 
(After  Theodore  de  Banville) 

STILL  sing  the  mocking  fairies,  as  of  old, 
Beneath  the  shade  of  thorn  and  holly-tree ; 
The  west  wind  breathes  upon  them,  pure  and  cold. 
And  wolves  still  dread  Diana  roaming  free 
In  secret  woodland  with  her  company. 
T  is  thought  the  peasants'  hovels  know  her  rite 
When  now  the  wolds  are  bathed  in  silver  hght, 
And  first  the  moonrise  breaks  the  dusky  grey, 
Then  down  the  dells,  with  blown  soft  hair  and  bright, 
And  through  the  dim  wood  Dian  threads  her  way. 

With  water-weeds  twined  in  their  locks  of  gold 

The  strange  cold  forest-fairies  dance  in  glee, 

Sylphs  over-timorous  and  over-bold 

Haunt  the  dark  hollows  where  the  dwarf  may  be, 

The  wild  red  dwarf,  the  nixies'  enemy ; 

Then  'mid  their  mirth,  and  laughter,  and  affright, 

12 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 

The  sudden  Goddess  enters,  tall  and  white, 
With  one  long  sigh  for  summers  pass'd  away ; 
The  swift  feet  tear  the  ivy  nets  outright 
And  through  the  dim  wood  Dian  threads  her  way. 

She  gleans  her  silvan  trophies ;   down  the  wold 

She  hears  the  sobbing  of  the  stags  that  flee 

Mixed  with  the  music  of  the  hunting  roU'd, 

But  her  delight  is  all  in  archery, 

And  naught  of  ruth  and  pity  wotteth  she 

More  than  her  hounds  that  follow  on  the  flight ; 

The  goddess  draws  a  golden  bow  of  might 

And  thick  she  rains  the  gentle  shafts  that  slay. 

She  tosses  loose  her  locks  upon  the  night. 

And  through  the  dim  wood  Dian  threads  her  way. 

Envoy 

Prince,  let  us  leave  the  din,  the  dust,  the  spite, 
The  gloom  and  glare  of  towns,  the  plague,  the  blight; 
Amid  the  forest  leaves  and  fountain  spray 
There  is  the  mystic  home  of  our  delight, 
And  through  the  dim  wood  Dian  threads  her  way. 

13 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 


BALLADE   OF  THE  TWEED 
(Lowland  Scotch) 
To  T.  W.  Lang 

THE  ferox  rins  in  rough  Loch  Awe, 
A  weary  cry  frae  ony  toun ; 
The  Spey,  that  loups  o'er  linn  and  fa*, 
They  praise  a'  ither  streams  aboon ; 
They  boast  their  braes  o'  bonny  Doon ; 
Gie  me  to  hear  the  ringing  reel, 
Where  shilfas  sing,  and  cushats  croon 
By  fair  Tweed-side,  at  Ashiesteel ! 

There  's  Ettrick,  Meggat,  Ail,  and  a'. 
Where  trout  swim  thick  in  May  and  June; 
Ye  '11  see  them  take  in  showers  o'  snaw 
Some  blinking,  cauldrife  April  moon : 
Rax  ower  the  palmer  and  march-broun, 
14 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 

And  syne  we  '11  show  a  bonny  creel, 
In  spring  or  simmer,  late  cr  soon, 
By  fair  Tweed-side,  at  Ashiesteel ! 

There  's  mony  a  water,  great  or  sma', 

Gaes  singing  in  his  siller  tune. 

Through  glen  and  heugh,  and  hope  and  shaw, 

Beneath  the  sun-licht  or  the  moon : 

But  set  us  in  our  fishlng-shoon 

Between  the  Caddon-burn  and  Peel, 

And  syne  we  '11  cross  the  heather  broun 

By  fair  Tweed-side  at  Ashiesteel ! 

Envoy 

Deil  take  the  dirty,  trading  loon 
Wad  gar  the  water  ca'  his  wheel. 
And  drift  his  dyes  and  poisons  doun, 
By  fair  Tweed-side  at  Ashiesteel ! 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 


BALLADE    OF  THE   BOOK-HUNTER 

IN  torrid  heats  of  late  July, 
In  March,  beneath  the  bitter  bise^ 
He  book-hunts  while  the  loungers  fly,  — 
He  book-hunts,  though  December  freeze ; 
In  breeches  baggy  at  the  knees. 
And  heedless  of  the  public  jeers. 
For  these,  for  these  he  hoards  his  fees,  — 
Aldines,  Bodonis,  Elzevirs.' 

No  dismal  stall  escapes  his  eye, 
He  turns  o'er  tomes  of  low  degrees, 
There  soiled  romanticists  may  lie. 
Or  Restoration  comedies ; 
Each  tract  that  flutters  in  the  breeze 
For  him  is  charged  with  hopes  and  fears. 
In  mouldy  novels  fancy  sees 
Aldines,  Bodonis,  Elzevirs. 
i6 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 

With  restless  eyes  that  peer  and  spy, 

Sad  eyes  that  heed  not  skies  nor  trees, 

In  dismal  nooks  he  loves  to  pry, 

Whose  motto  evermore  is  Spcs! 

But  ah  !  the  fabled  treasure  flees ; 

Grown  rarer  with  the  fleeting  years, 

In  rich  men's  shelves  they  take  their  ease,  — 

Aldines,  Bodonis,  Elzevirs ! 

Envoy 

Prince,  all  the  things  that  tease  and  please,  — 
Fame,  hope,  wealth,  kisses,  cheers,  and  tears, 
What  are  they  but  such  toys  as  these,  — 
Aldines,  Bodonis,  Elzevirs? 


J7 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 

BALLADE    OF  THE  VOYAGE  TO  CYTHERA 

(After  Theodore  de  Banville) 

I  KNOW  Cythera  long  is  desolate ; 
I  know  the  winds  have  stripp'd  the  gardens  green. 
Alas,  my  friends !   beneath  the  fierce  sun's  weight 
A  barren  reef  lies  where  Love's  flowers  have  been, 
Nor  ever  lover  on  that  coast  is  seen ! 
So  be  it,  but  we  seek  a  fabled  shore, 
To  lull  our  vague  desires  with  mystic  lore, 
To  wander  where  Love's  labyrinths  beguile ; 
There  let  us  land,  there  dream  for  evermore : 
''  It  may  be  we  shall  touch  the  happy  isle." 

The  sea  may  be  our  sepulchre.     If  Fate, 
If  tempests  wreak  their  wrath  on  us,  serene 
We  watch  the  bolt  of  heaven,  and  scorn  the  hate 
Of  angry  gods  that  smite  us  in  their  spleen. 
Perchance  the  jealous  mists  are  but  the  screen 
That  veils  the  fairy  coast  we  would  explore. 

18 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 

Come,  though  the  sea  be  vex'd,  and  breakers  roar, 
Come,  for  the  air  of  this  old  world  is  vile, 
Haste  we,  and  toil,  and  faint  not  at  the  oar; 
"  It  may  be  we  shall  touch  the  happy  isle." 

Grey  serpents  trail  in  temples  desecrate 

Where  Cypris  smiled,  the  golden  maid,  the  queen, 

And  ruined  is  the  palace  of  our  state; 

And  happy  Loves  flit  round  the  mast,  and  keen 

The  shrill  wind  sings  the  silken  cords  between. 

Heroes  are  we,  with  wearied  hearts  and  sore, 

Whose  flower  is  faded  and  whose  locks  are  hoar. 

Yet  haste,  light  skiffs,  where  myrtle  thickets  smile ; 

Love's  panthers  sleep  'mid  roses,  as  of  yore; 

"  It  may  be  we  shall  touch  the  happy  isle !  " 

Envoy 

Sad  eyes !  the  blue  sea  laughs,  as  heretofore. 
Ah,  singing  birds,  your  happy  music  pour ! 
Ah,  poets,  leave  the  sordid  earth  awhile ; 
Flit  to  these  ancient  gods  we  still  adore : 
"  It  may  be  we  shall  touch  the  happy  isle ! " 

19 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 


BALLADE   OF  THE    SUMMER  TERM 

{Being  a  petition,  in  the  form  of  a  Ballade,  praying  the  Uni- 
versity Commissioners  to  spare  the  Summer  Term) 

WHEN  Lent  and  Responsions  are  ended, 
When  May  wi'th  fritillaries  waits, 
When  the  flower  of  the  chestnut  is  splendid, 
When  drags  are  at  all  of  the  gates 
(Those  drags  the  philosopher  "  slates  " 
With  a  scorn  that  is  truly  sublime),* 
Life  wins  from  the  grasp  of  the  Fates 
Sweet  hours  and  the  fleetest  of  time  ! 

When  wickets  are  bowl'd  and  defended, 
When  Isis  is  glad  with  "  the  Eights," 
When  music  and  sunset  are  blended, 

*  Cf.  "  Suggestions  for  Academic  Reorganization." 
20 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 

When  Youth  and  the  summer  are  mates, 
When  Freshmen  are  heedless  of  "  Greats," 
And  when  note-books  are  cover'd  with  rhyme, 
Ah,  these  are  the  hours  that  one  rates  — 
Sweet  hours  and  the  fleetest  of  time  ! 

When  the  brow  of  the  Dean  is  unbended 
At  luncheons  and  mild  tete-a-tetes, 
When  the  Tutor  's  in  love,  nor  offended 
By  blunders  in  tenses  or  dates ; 
When  bouquets  are  purchased  of  Bates, 
When  the  bells  in  their  melody  chime, 
When  unheeded  the  Lecturer  prates  — 
Sweet  hours  and  the  fleetest  of  time ! 

Envoy 

Reformers  of  Schools  and  of  States, 
Is  mirth  so  tremendous  a  crime? 
Ah  !   spare  what  grim  pedantry  hates  — 
Sweet  hours  and  the  fleetest  of  time ! 


21 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 


BALLADE   OF  THE   MUSE 
Quern  tu,  Melpomene,  semel. 

THE  man  whom  once,  Melpomene, 
Thou  look'st  on  with  benignant  sight, 
Shall  never  at  the  Isthmus  be 
A  boxer  eminent  in  fight, 
Nor  fares  he  foremost  in  the  flight 
Of  Grecian  cars  to  victory, 
Nor  goes  with  Delian  laurels  dight, 
The  man  thou  lov'st,  Melpomene ! 

Not  him  the  Capitol  shall  see, 

As  who  hath  crush'd  the  threats  and  might 

Of  monarchs,  march  triumphantly ; 

But  Fame  shall  crown  him,  in  his  right 

22 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 

Of  all  the  Roman  lyre  that  smite 
The  first;  so  woods  of  Tivoli 
Proclaim  him,  so  her  waters  bright, 
The  man  thou  lov'st,  Melpomene ! 

The  sons  of  queenly  Rome  count  niCy 

Me  too,  with  them  whose  chants  delight, — 

The  poets*  kindly  company  ; 

Now  broken  is  the  tooth  of  spite, 

But  thou,  that  temperest  aright 

The  golden  lyre,  all,  all  to  thee 

He  owes  — life,  fame,  and  fortune's  height - 

The  man  thou  lov'st,  Melpomene  ! 


Envoy 

Queen,  that  to  mute  lips  could'st  unite 
The  wild  swan's  dying  melody  ! 
Thy  gifts,  ah  !  how  shall  he  requite  — 
The  man  thou  lov'st,  Melpomene? 


23 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 

BALLADE   AGAINST  THE  JESUITS 

(After  La  Fontaine) 

ROME  does  right  well  to  censure  all  the  vain 
Talk  of  Jansenius,  and  of  them  who- preach 
That  earthly  joys  are  damnable  !  Tis  plain 
We  need  not  charge  at  Heaven  as  at  a  breach ; 
No,  amble  on  !     We  '11  gain  it,  one  and  all ; 
The  narrow  path  's  a  dream  fantastical, 
And  Arnauld  's  quite  superfluously  driven 
Mirth  from  the  world.    We  '11  scale  the  heavenly  wall, 
Escobar  makes  a  primrose  path  to  heaven ! 

He  does  not  hold  a  man  may  well  be  slain 
Who  vexes  with  unseasonable  speech. 
You  may  do  murder  for  five  ducats  gain. 
Not  for  a  pin,  a  ribbon,  or  a  peach ; 
He  ventures  (most  consistently)  to  teach 
That  there  are  certain  cases  that  befall 

24 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 

When  perjury  need  no  good  man  appal. 
And  life  of  love  (he  says)  may  keep  a  leaven. 
Sure,  hearing  this,  a  grateful  world  will  bawl, 
"  Escobar  makes  a  primrose  path  to  heaven  !  " 

"  For  God's  sake  read  me  somewhat  in  the  strain 
Of  his  most  cheering  volumes,  I  beseech!  " 
Why  should  I  name  them  all?  a  mighty  train  — 
So  many,  none  may  know  the  name  of  each. 
Make  these  your  compass  to  the  heavenly  beach, 
These  only  in  your  library  instal : 
Burn  Pascal  and  his  fellows,  great  and  small, 
Dolts  that  in  vain  with  Escobar  have  striven ; 
I  tell  you,  and  the  common  voice  doth  call, 
Escobar  makes  a  primrose  path  to  heaven ! 

Envoy 

Satan^  that  pride  did  hurry  to  thy  fall, 
Thou  porter  of  the  grim  infernal  hall  — 
Thou  keeper  of  the  courts  of  souls  unshriveni 
To  shun  thy  shafts,  to  'scape  thy  hellish  thrall, 
Escobar  makes  a  primrose  path  to  heaven ! 

25 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 


BALLADE   OF   DEAD   CITIES 
To  E.  W.  GossE 

THE  dust  of  Carthage  and  the  dust 
Of  Babel  on  the  desert  wold, 
The  loves  of  Corinth,  and  the  lust, 
Orchomenos  increased  with  gold  ; 
The  town  of  Jason,  over-bold, 
And  Cherson,  smitten  in  her  prime  — 
What  are  they  but  a  dream  half-told  ? 
Where  are  the  cities  of  old  time? 

In  towns  that  were  a  kingdom's  trust, 
In  dim  Atlantic  forests'  fold, 
The  marble  wasteth  to  a  crust. 
The  granite  crumbles  into  mould ; 
26 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 

O'er  these  —  left  nameless  from  of  old  — 
As  over  Shinar's  brick  and  slime, 
One  vast  forgetfulness  is  roU'd  — 
Where  are  the  cities  of  old  time? 

The  lapse  of  ages,  and  the  rust, 

The  fire,  the  frost,  the  waters  cold, 

Efface  the  evil  and  the  just; 

From  Thebes,  that  Eriphyle  sold, 

To  drovvn'd  Caer-Is,  whose  sweet  bells  toll'd 

Beneath  the  wave  a  dreamy  chime 

That  echo'd  from  the  mountain-hold,  — 

"  Where  are  the  cities  of  old  time?" 

Envoy 

Prince,  all  thy  towns  and  cities  must 
Decay  as  these,  till  all  their  crime, 
And  mirth,  and  wealth,  and  toil  are  thrust 
Where  are  the  cities  of  old  time. 


27 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 


BALLADE  OF  THE  ROYAL  GAME  OF  GOLF 

(East  Fifeshire) 

TPIERE  are  laddies  will  drive  ye  a  ba* 
To  the  burn  frae  the  farthermost  tee, 
But  ye  mauna  think  driving  is  a.\ 
Ye  may  heel  her,  and  send  her  ajee, 
Ye  may  land  in  the  sand  or  the  sea; 
And  ye  *re  dune,  sir,  ye  're  no  worth  a  preen, 
Tak'  the  word  that  an  auld  man  '11  gie, 
Tak'  aye  tent  to  be  up  on  the  green ! 

The  auld  folk  are  crouse,  and  they  craw 
That  their  putting  is  pawky  and  slee ; 
In  a  bunker  they  're  nae  gude  ava', 
But  to  girn,  and  to  gar  the  sand  flee. 
28 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 

And  a  lassie  can  putt  —  ony  she,  — 
Be  Maggy,  or  Bessie,  or  Jean, 
But  a  cleek-shot's  the  billy  for  me, 
Tak'  aye  tent  to  be  up  on  the  green  ! 

I  hae  played  in  the  frost  and  the  thaw, 
I  hae  played  since  the  year  thirty-three, 
I  hae  played  in  the  rain  and  the  snaw. 
And  I  trust  I  may  play  till  I  dee ; 
And  I  tell  ye  the  truth  and  nae  lee, 
For  I  speak  o'  the  thing  I  hae  seen  — 
Tom  Morris,  I  ken,  will  agree  — 
Tak'  aye  tent  to  be  up  on  the  green ! 

Envoy 

Prince,  faith  you  're  improving  a  wee. 
And,  Lord,  man,  they  tell  me  you  're  keen; 
Tak'  the  best  o'  advice  that  can  be, 
Tak'  aye  tent  to  be  up  on  the  green  ! 


29 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 


DOUBLE   BALLADE   OF   PRIMITIVE   MAN 
To  J.  A.  Farrer 

HE  lived  in  a  cave  by  the  seas, 
He  lived  upon  oysters  and  foes, 
But  his  list  of  forbidden  degrees, 
An  extensive  morality  shows ; 
Geological  evidence  goes 
To  prove  he  had  never  a  pan, 
But  he  shaved  with  a  shell  when  he  chose,  — 
Twas  the  manner  of  Primitive  Man. 

He  worshipp'd  the  rain  and  the  breeze, 
He  worshipp'd  the  riVer  that  flows, 
And  the  Dawn,  and  the  Moon,  and  the  trees, 
And  bogies,  and  serpents,  and  crows; 
30 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 

He  buried  his  dead  with  their  toes 
Tucked-up,  an  original  plan, 
Till  their  knees  came  right  under  their  nose, - 
'Twas  the  manner  of  Primitive  Man. 

His  communal  wives,  at  his  ease, 
He  would  curb  with  occasional  blows; 
Or  his  State  had  a  queen,  like  the  bees 
(As  another  philosopher  trows)  : 
When  he  spoke,  it  was  never  in  prose, 
But  he  sang  in  a  strain  that  would  scan, 
For  (to  doubt  it,  perchance,  were  morose) 
'T  was  the  manner  of  Primitive  Man  ! 

On  the  coasts  that  incessantly  freeze, 
With  his  stones,  and  his  bones,  and  his  bows ; 
On  luxuriant  tropical  leas. 
Where  the  summer  eternally  glows, 
He  is  found,  and  his  habits  disclose 
(Let  theology  say  what  she  can) 
That  he  lived  in  the  long,  long  agos, 
'T  was  the  manner  of  Primitive  Man  ! 
31 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 

From  a  status  like  that  of  the  Crees, 

Our  society's  fabric  arose,  — 

Develop'd,  evolved,  if  you  please, 

But  deluded  chronologists  chose, 

In  a  fancied  accordance  with  Mos 

es,  4000  B.C.  for  the  span 

When  he  rushed  on  the  world  and  its  woes,- 

'Twas  the  manner  of  Primitive  Man! 

But  the  mild  anthropologist,  —  he 's 

Not  recent  inclined  to  suppose 

Flints  Palaeolithic  like  these ! 

In  Rhinoceros,  Mammoth  and  Co.'s, 

First  epoch,  the  Human  began, 

Theologians  all  to  expose, — 

'T  is  the  mission  of  Primitive  Man. 

Envoy 
Max,  proudly  your  Aryans  pose. 
But  their  rigs  they  undoubtedly  ran 
For,  as  every  Darwinian  knows, 
'T  was  the  manner  of  Primitive  Man  ! 
32 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 


BALLADE    OF   AUTUMN 

WE  built  a  castle  in  the  air, 
In  summer  weather  you  and  I, 
The  wind  and  sun  were  in  your  hair,  — 
Gold  hair  against  a  sapphire  sky : 
When  Autumn  came,  with  leaves  that  fly 
Before  the  storm,  across  the  plain, 
You  fled  from  me,  with  scarce  a  sigh  — 
My  Love  returns  no  more  again ! 

The  windy  lights  of  Autumn  flare  : 
I  watch  the  moonlit  sails  go  by ; 
I  marvel  how  men  toil  and  fare, 
The  weary  business  that  they  ply  ! 
Their  voyaging  is  vanity, 
And  fairy  gold  is  all  their  gain, 
And  all  the  winds  of  winter  cry, 
"  My  Love  returns  no  more  again !  " 
3  33 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 

Here,  in  my  castle  of  Despair, 
I  sit  alone  with  memory ; 
The  wind-fed  wolf  has  left  his  lair, 
To  keep  the  outcast  company. 
The  brooding  owl  he  hoots  hard  by, 
The  hare  shall  kindle  o?i  thy  hearth-stane^ 
The  Rhymer's  soothest  prophecy,  —  * 
My  Love  returns  no  more  again  ! 

Envoy 

Lady,  my  home  until  I  die 

Is  here,  where  youth  and  hope  were  slain ; 

They  flit,  the  ghosts  of  our  July, 

My  Love  returns  no  more  again ! 

*  Thomas  of  Ercildoune. 


34 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 


BALLADE   OF   TRUE   VVISDOr^I 

WHILE  others  are  asking  for  beauty  or  fame, 
Or  praying  to  know  that  for  which  they  should 
pray, 
Or  courting  Queen  Venus,  that  affable  dame. 
Or  chasing  the  Muses  the  weary  and  grey, 
The  sage  has  found  out  a  more  excellent  way  — 
To  Pan  and  to  Pallas  his  incense  he  showers. 
And  his  humble  petition  puts  up  day  by  day, 
For  a  house  full  of  books,  and  a  garden  of  flowers. 

Inventors  may  bow  to  the  God  that  is  lame. 
And  crave  from  the  fire  on  his  stithy  a  ray ; 
Philosophers  kneel  to  the  God  without  name. 
Like  the  people  of  Athens,  agnostics  are  they ; 
The  hunter  a  fawn  to  Diana  will  slay. 
The  maiden  wild  roses  will  wreathe  for  the  Hours ; 
But  the  wise  man  will  ask,  ere  libation  he  pay, 
For  a  house  full  of  books,  and  a  garden  of  flowers. 

35 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 

Oh !  grant  me  a  life  without  pleasure  or  blame 
(As  mortals  count  pleasure  who  rush  through  their  day 
With  a  speed  to  which  that  of  the  tempest  is  tame) ! 
Oh  !  grant  me  a  house  by  the  beach  of  a  bay, 
Where  the  waves  can  be  surly  in  winter,  and  play 
With  the  sea-weed  in  summer,  ye  bountiful  powers ! 
And  I  'd  leave  all  the  hurry,  the  noise,  and  the  fray, 
For  a  house  full  of  books,  and  a  garden  of  flowers. 

Envoy 

Gods,  grant  or  withhold  it ;    your  *^  yea "  and  your 

**  nay  " 
Are  immutable,  heedless  of  outcry  of  ours : 
But  life  is  worth  living,  and  here  we  would  stay 
For  a  house  full  of  books,  and  a  garden  of  flowers. 


36 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 


BALLADE   OF  WORLDLY  WEALTH 
(Old  French) 

MONEY  taketh  town  and  wall, 
Fort  and  ramp  without  a  blow; 
Money  moves  the  merchants  all, 
While  the  tides  shall  ebb  and  flow ; 
Money  maketh  Evil  show 
Like  the  Good,  and  Truth  like  lies: 
These  alone  can  ne'er  bestow 
Youth,  and  health,  and  Paradise. 

Money  maketh  festival, 
Wine  she  buys,  and  beds  can  strow; 
Round  the  necks  of  captains  tall, 
Money  wins  them  chains  to  throw, 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 

Marches  soldiers  to  and  fro, 
Gaineth  ladies  with  sweet  eyes : 
These  alone  can  ne'er  bestow 
Youth,  and  health,  and  Paradise. 

Money  wins  the  priest  his  stall ; 
Money  mitres  buys,  I  trow. 
Red  hats  for  the  Cardinal, 
Abbeys  for  the  novice  low ; 
Money  maketh  sin  as  snow, 
Place  of  penitence  supplies : 
These  alone  can  ne'er  bestow 
Youth,  and  health,  and  Paradise. 


38 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 


BALLADE   OF   LIFE 

"  '  Dead  and  gone,'  —  a  sorry  burden  of  the  Ballad  of  Life." 

Death's  Jest  Book. 

SAY,  fair  maids,  maying 
In  gardens  green, 
In  deep  dells  straying, 
What  end  hath  been 
Two  Mays  between 
Of  the  flowers  that  shone 
And  your  own  sweet  queen  — 
**  They  are  dead  and  gone !  " 

Say,  grave  priests,  praying 
In  dule  and  teen, 
From  cells  decaying 
What  have  ye  seen 
39 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 

Of  the  proud  and  mean, 
Of  Judas  and  John, 
Of  the  foul  and  clean?  — 
*'  They  are  dead  and  gone  !  " 

Say,  kings,  arraying 

Loud  wars  to  win. 

Of  your  manslaying 

What  gain  ye  glean? 

"  They  are  fierce  and  keen. 

But  they  fall  anon. 

On  the  sword  that  lean,  — 

They  are  dead  and  gone !  " 

Envoy 

Through  the  mad  world's  scene, 
We  are  drifting  on, 
To  this  tune,  I  ween, 
"They  are  dead  and  gone !  " 


40 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 


BALLADE   OF   BLUE   CHINA 

THERE  'S  a  joy  without  canker  or  cark, 
There  's  a  pleasure  eternally  new, 
T  is  to  gloat  on  the  glaze  and  the  mark 
Of  china  that's  ancient  and  blue; 
Unchipp'd  all  the  centuries  through 
It  has  pass'd,  since  the  chime  of  it  rang, 
And  they  fashion'd  it,  figure  and  hue, 
In  the  reign  of  the  Emperor  Hwang. 

These  dragons  (their  tails,  you  remark. 
Into  bunches  of  gillyflowers  grew),  — 
When  Noah  came  out  of  the  Ark, 
Did  these  lie  in  wait  for  his  crew? 
They  snorted,  they  snapp'd,  and  they  slew, 
They  were  mighty  of  fin  and  of  fang, 
And  their  portraits  Celestials  drew 
In  the  reign  of  the  Emperor  Hwang 
41 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 

Here  's  a  pot  with  a  cot  in  a  park, 

In  a  park  where  the  peach-blossoms  blew, 

Where  the  lovers  eloped  in  the  dark, 

Lived,  died,  and  were  changed  into  two 

Bright  birds  that  eternally  flew 

Through  the  boughs  of  the  may,  as  they  sang ; 

*T  is  a  tale  was  undoubtedly  true 

In  the  reign  of  the  Emperor  Hwang. 

Envoy 

Come,  snarl  at  my  ecstasies,  do, 
Kind  critic,  your  "  tongue  has  a  tang," 
But  —  a  sage  never  heeded  a  shrew 
In  the  reign  of  the  Emperor  Hwang. 


42 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 


BALLADE   OF   DEAD   LADIES 

(After  Villon) 

NAY,  tell  me  now  in  what  strange  air 
The  Roman  Flora  dwells  to-day. 
Where  Archippiada  hides,  and  where 
Beautiful  Thais  has  passed  away? 
Whence  answers  Echo,  afield,  astray, 
By  mere  or  stream,  —  around,  below? 
Lovelier  she  than  a  woman  of  clay ; 
Nay,  but  where  is  the  last  year's  snow? 

Where  is  wise  Heloise,  that  care 
Brought  on  Abeilard,  and  dismay? 
All  for  her  love  he  found  a  snare, 
A  maimed  poor  monk  in  orders  grey; 
43 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 

And  where 's  the  Queen  who  willed  to  slay 
Buridan,  that  in  a  sack  must  go 
Afloat  down  Seine,  —  a  perilous  way  — 
Nay,  but  where  is  the  last  year's  snow? 

Where  's  that  White  Queen,  a  lily  rare. 
With  her  sweet  song,  the  Siren's  lay? 
Where's  Bertha  Broad-foot,  Beatrice  fair? 
Alys  and  Ermengarde,  where  are  they? 
Good  Joan,  whom  Enghsh  did  betray 
In  Rouen  town,  and  burned  her?  No, 
Maiden  and  Queen,  no  man  may  say; 
Nay,  but  where  is  the  last  year's  snow? 

Envoy 

Prince,  all  this  Aveek  thou  need'st  not  pray, 
Nor  yet  this  year  the  thing  to  know. 
One  burden  answers,  ever  and  aye, 
**  Nay,  but  where  is  the  last  year's  snow?" 


44 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 


VILLON'S   BALLADE 
Of  Good  Counsel,  to  his  friends  of  Evil  Life 

NAY,  be  you  pardoner  or  cheat, 
Or  cogger  keen,  or  mumper  shy, 
You  '11  burn  your  fingers  at  the  feat. 
And  howl  like  other  folks  that  fry. 
All  evil  folks  that  love  a  lie  ! 
And  where  goes  gain  that  greed  amasses. 
By  wile,  and  trick,  and  thievery? 
'T  is  all  to  taverns  and  to  lasses ! 

Rhyme,  rail,  dance,  play  the  cymbals  sweet, 
With  game,  and  shame,  and  jollity, 
Go  jigging  through  the  field  and  street, 
With  my s fry  and  morality  ; 
45 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 

Win  gold  at  gleek,  —  and  that  will  fly, 
Where  all  you  gain  dX  passage  passes,  — 
And  that's?  You  know  as  well  as  I, 
'T  is  all  to  taverns  and  to  lasses  ! 

Nay,  forth  from  all  such  filth  retreat. 

Go  delve  and  ditch,  in  wet  and  dry. 

Turn  groom,  give  horse  and  mule  their  meat, 

If  you  've  no  clerkly  skill  to  ply ; 

You  '11  gain  enough,  with  husbandry, 

But  —  sow  hempseed  and  such  wild  grasses. 

And  where  goes  all  you  take  thereby?  — 

'T  is  all  to  taverns  and  to  lasses ! 

Envoy 

Your  clothes,  your  hose,  your  broidery, 
Your  linen  that  the  snow  surpasses, 
Or  ere  they  're  worn,  off,  off  they  fly, 
'T  is  all  to  taverns  and  to  lasses. 


46 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 


BALLADE  OF   RABBITS  AND    HARES 

IN  a  vision  a  Sportsman  forlorn 
I  beheld,  in  an  isle  of  the  West, 
And  his  purple  and  linen  were  torn. 
And  he  wailed,  as  he  beat  on  his  breast,  — 
**  My  people  are  men  dispossessed. 
They  have  vanished,  and  nobody  cares,  — 
They  have  passed  to  the  place  of  their  rest, 
They  have  gone  with  the  Rabbits  and  Hares ! 


"  Oh,  why  was  a  gentleman  born 
With  a  title,  a  name,  and  a  crest. 
Where  the  Rabbit  is  treated  with  scorn, 
And  the  Hare  is  accounted  a  pest, 
47 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 

By  the  lumbering  farmer  repressed, 
With  his  dogs,  and  his  guns,  and  his  snares? 
But  my  fathers  have  ended  their  quest, 
They  have  gone  with  the  Rabbits  and  Hares ! 

"  Ah,  woe  for  the  clover  and  corn 

That  the  Rabbit  was  wont  to  infest ! 

Ah,  woe  for  my  youth  in  its  morn, 

When  the  farmer  obeyed  my  behest ! 

Happy  days  !  like  a  wandering  guest 

Ye  have  fled,  ye  are  sped  unawares ; 

But  my  fathers  are  now  with  the  blest, 

They  have  gone  with  the  Rabbits  and  Hares !  " 

Envoy 

Prince,  mourn  for  a  nation  oppressed. 
And  absorbed  in  her  stocks  and  her  shares. 
And  bereaved  of  her  bravest  and  best  — 
They  have  gone  with  the  Rabbits  and  Hares ! 


48 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 


VALENTINE   IN   FORM    OF   BALLADE 

THE  soft  wind  from  the  south  land  sped, 
He  set  his  strength  to  blow, 
From  forests  where  Adonis  bled. 
And  lily  flowers  a-row : 
He  crossed  the  straits  like  streams  that  flow, 
The  ocean  dark  as  wine, 
To  my  true  love  to  whisper  low, 
To  be  your  Valentine. 

The  Spring  half-raised  her  drowsy  head, 
Besprent  with  drifted  snow, 
*•  I  '11  send  an  April  day,"  she  said, 
**  To  lands  of  wintry  woe." 
He  came  —  the  winter's  overthrow 
With  showers  that  sing  and  shine. 
Pied  daisies  round  your  path  to  strow, 
To  be  your  Valentine. 
4  .19 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 

Where  sands  of  Egypt,  swart  and  red, 

*Neath  suns  Egyptian  glow, 

In  places  of  the  princely  dead, 

By  the  Nile's  overflow. 

The  swallow  preened  her  wings  to  go. 

And  for  the  North  did  pine, 

And  fain  would  brave  the  frost  her  foe, 

To  be  your  Valentine. 

Envoy 

Spring,  Swallow,  South  Wind,  even  so, 
Their  various  voice  combine ; 
But  that  they  crave  on  me  bestow, 
To  be  your  Valentine. 


50 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 


BALLADE  OF  OLD  PLAYS 

{Les  CEuvres  de  Monsieur  Moliere.     A  Paris,  chez  Louys  Bil- 
laine  a  la  Palme.    M.D.C.  LXVI) 

La  Cour 

WHEN  these  Old  Plays  were  new,  the  King, 
Beside  the  Cardinal's  chair. 
Applauded,  'mid  the  courtly  ring. 
The  verses  of  Moliere ; 
Point-lace  was  then  the  only  wear, 
Old  Corneille  came  to  woo. 
And  bright  Du  Pare  was  young  and  fair, 
When  these  Old  Plays  were  new ! 

La  Com^die 

How  shrill  the  butcher's  cat-calls  ring, 
How  loud  the  lackeys  swear ! 
Black  pipe-bowls  on  the  stage  they  fling, 
At  Brecourt,  fuming  there  ! 
SI 


Ballades  in  Blue  China 

The  Porter  's  stabbed  !  a  Mousquetaire 
Breaks  in  with  noisy  crew  — 
T  was  all  a  commonplace  affair 
When  these  Old  Plays  were  new ! 

La  Ville 

When  these  Old  Plays  were  new !     They  bring 

A  host  of  phantoms  rare : 

Old  jests  that  float,  old  jibes  that  sting, 

Old  faces  peaked  with  care : 

Menage's  smirk,  de  Vise's  stare, 

The  thefts  of  Jean  Ribou,  —  * 

Ah,  publishers  were  hard  to  bear 

When  these  Old  Plays  were  new. 

Envoy 

Ghosts,  at  your  Poet's  word  ye  dare 
To  break  Death's  dungeons  through, 
And  frisk,  as  in  that  golden  air. 
When  these  Old  Plays  were  new ! 
*  A  knavish  publisher. 
52 


DIZAIN 

As,  to  the  pipe,  with  rhythmic  feet 
In  windings  of  some  old-world  daiice, 
The  smiling  couples  cross  and  meet, 
Join  hands ^  and  then  i?i  line  advance, 
So,  to  these  fair  old  tunes  of  France, 
Through  all  their  maze  of  to-andfro. 
The  light-heeled  numbers  laughing  go,    . 
Retreat,  return,  and  ere  they  flee. 
One  moment  pause  in  panting  row, 
A?id  seem  to  say  —  Vos  plaudite  / 

A.  D. 


VERSES   AND   TRANSLATIONS 


Oronte  —  Ce  ne  sont  point  de  ces  grands  vers pompeux^ 
Mais  de  pettts  vers  ! 

Le  Misanthrope,  Act  I.,  Sc.  2. 


A   PORTRAIT  OF    1783 

YOUR  hair  and  chin  are  Hke  the  hair 
And  chin  Burne-Jones's  ladies  wear; 
You  were  unfashionably  fair 

In '83; 
And  sad  you  were  when  girls  are  gay, 
You  read  a  book  about  Le  vrai 
Merite  de  rhomtnCy  alone  in  May. 

What  can  it  be, 
Le  vrai  nitrite  de  Vhommel     Not  gold, 
Not  tithes  that  are  bought  and  sold, 
Not  wit  that  flashes  and  is  cold. 

But  Virtue  merely ! 
Instructed  by  Jean-Jacques  Rousseau 
(And  Jean-Jacques,  surely,  ought  to  know) 
You  bade  the  crowd  of  foplings  go, 

You  glanced  severely, 
73 


Verses  and  Translations 

Dreaming  beneath  the  spreading  shade 
Of  "  that  vast  hat  the  Graces  made  ;  "  * 
So  Rouget  sang  —  while  yet  he  played 

With  courtly  rhyme, 
And  hymned  great  Doisi's  red  perruque, 
And  Nice's  eyes,  and  Zulme's  look, 
And  dead  canaries,  ere  he  shook 

The  sultry  time 
With  strains  like  thunder.     Loud  and  low 
Methinks  I  hear  the  murmur  grow, 
The  tramp  of  men  that  come  and  go 

With  fire  and  sword. 
They  war  against  the  quick  and  dead, 
Their  flying  feet  are  dashed  with  red, 
As  theirs  the  vintaging  that  tread 

Before  the  Lord. 

*  Vous  y  verrez,  belle  Julie, 
Que  ce  chapeau  tout  maltraite* 
Fut,  dans  un  instant  de  folia. 
Par  les  Graces  meme  invente. 
'A  Julie.'    Essais  en  Prose  et  en  Vers,  par  Joseph  Lisle :    Paris 
An.  V.  de  la  Republique. 

74 


Verses  and  Translations 

O  head  uiifashionably  fair, 

What  end  was  thine,  for  all  thy  care? 

We  only  see  thee  dreaming  there : 

We  cannot  see 
The  breaking  of  thy  vision,  when 
The  Rights  of  Man  were  lords  of  men, 
When  virtue  won  her  own  again 

In  '93. 


75 


Verses  and  Translations 


THE   MOON'S   MINION 
(From  the  Prose  of  C.  Baudelaire) 

THINE  eyes  are  like  the  sea,  my  dear, 
The  wand'ring  waters,  green  and  grey ; 
Thine  eyes  are  wonderful  and  clear, 

And  deep,  and  deadly,  even  as  they; 
The  spirit  of  the  changeful  sea 

Informs  thine  eyes  at  night  and  noon. 
She  sways  the  tides,  and  the  heart  of  thee, 
The  mystic,  sad,  capricious  Moon ! 

The  Moon  came  down  the  shining  stair 
Of  clouds  that  fleck  the  summer  sky. 

She  kissed  thee,  saying,  "  Child,  be  fair. 
And  madden  men's  hearts,  even  as  I ; 

76 


Verses  and  Translations 

Thou  shalt  love  all  things  strange  and  sweet, 
That  know  me  and  are  known  of  me ; 

The  lover  thou  shalt  never  meet, 

The  land  where  thou  shalt  never  be !  " 

She  held  thee  in  her  chill  embrace. 

She  kissed  thee  with  cold  lips  divine, 
She  left  her  pallor  on  thy  face, 

That  mystic  ivory  face  of  thine ; 
And  now  I  sit  beside  thy  feet. 

And  all  my  heart  is  far  from  thee, 
Dreaming  of  her  I  shall  not  meet, 

And  of  the  land  I  shall  not  see ! 


77 


Verses  and  Translations 


IN   ITHACA 

"  And  now  am  I  greatly  repenting  that  ever  I  left  my  life  with 
thee,  and  the  immortality  thou  didst  promise  me.  "  —  Letter  of 
Odysseus  to  Calypso.     Luciani  Vera  Historia. 

"T^  IS  thought  Odysseus  when  the  strife  was  o'er 
1     With  all  the  waves  and  wars,  a  weary  while, 
Grew  restless  in  his  disenchanted  isle, 

And  still  would  watch  the  sunset,  from  the  shore. 

Go  down  the  ways  of  gold,  and  evermore 
His  sad  heart  followed  after,  mile  on  mile. 
Back  to  the  Goddess  of  the  magic  wile. 

Calypso,  and  the  love  that  was  of  yore. 

Thou  too,  thy  haven  gained,  must  turn  thee  yet 
To  look  across  the  sad  and  stormy  space, 
Years  of  a  youth  as  bitter  as  the  sea. 

Ah,  with  a  heavy  heart,  and  eyelids  wet. 
Because,  within  a  fair  forsaken  place 
The  life  that  might  have  been  is  lost  to  thee. 
•      78 


Verses  and  Translations 


HOMER 

HOMER,  thy  song  men  liken  to  the  sea 
With  all  the  notes  of  music  in  its  tone, 
With  tides  that  wash  the  dim  dominion 
Of  Hades,  and  light  waves  that  laugh  in  glee 
Around  the  isles  enchanted ;   nay,  to  me 

Thy  verse  seems  as  the  River  of  source  unknown 
That  glasses  Egypt's  temples  overthrown 
In  his  sky-nurtured  stream,  eternally. 

No  wiser  we  than  men  of  heretofore 

To  find  thy  sacred  fountains  guarded  fast ; 

Enough,  thy  flood  makes  green  our  human  shore, 
As  Nilus  Egypt,  rolling  down  his  vast 

His  fertile  flood,  that  murmurs  evermore 
Of  gods  dethroned,  and  empires  in  the  past. 


79 


Verses  and  Translations 

THE   BURIAL  OF   MOLIERE 
(After  J.  Truffier) 

DEAD  —  he  is  dead  !     The  rouge  has  left  a  trace 
On  that  thin  cheek  where  shone,  perchance,  a 
tear, 
Even  while  the  people  laughed  that  held  him 
dear 
But  yesterday.     He  died,  —  and  not  in  grace, 
And  many  a  black-robed  caitiff  starts  apace 

To  slander  him  whose  Tartuffe  made  them  fear, 
And  gold  must  win  a  passage  for  his  bier, 
And  bribe  the  crowd  that  guards  his  resting-place. 

Ah,  MoHere,  for  that  last  time  of  all, 

Man's  hatred  broke  upon  thee,  and  went  by, 
And  did  but  make  more  fair  thy  funeral. 

Though  in  the  dark  they  hid  thee  stealthily. 
Thy  coffin  had  the  cope  of  night  for  pall, 

For  torch,  the  stars  along  the  windy  sky ! 
So 


Verses  and  Translations 


BION 

THE  wail  of  Moschus  on  the  mountains  crying 
The  Muses  heard,  and  loved  it  long  ago; 
They  heard  the  hollows  of  the  hills  replying, 

They  heard  the  weeping  water's  overflow ; 
They  winged  the  sacred  strain  —  the  song  undying, 
The  song  that  all  about  the  world  must  go,  — 
When  poets  for  a  poet  dead  are  sighing, 

The  minstrels  for  a  minstrel  friend  laid  low. 

And  dirge  to  dirge  that  answers,  and  the  weeping. 

For  Adonais  by  the  summer  sea, 
The  plaints  for  Lycidas,  and  Thyrsis  (sleeping 

Far  from  *'the  forest  ground  called  Thessaly"), 
These  hold  thy  memory,  Bion,  in  their  keeping, 

And  are  but  echoes  of  the  moan  for  thee. 

6  Si 


Verses  and  Translations 


SPRING 

(After  Meleager) 

NOW  the  bright  crocus  flames,  and  now 
The  sHm  narcissus  takes  the  rain, 
And,  straying  o'er  the  mountain's  brow. 
The  dafifodihes  bud  again. 
The  thousand  blossoms  wax  and  wane 
On  wold,  and  heath,  and  fragrant  bough. 
But  fairer  than  the  flowers  art  thou, 

Than  any  growth  of  hill  or  plain. 

Ye  gardens  cast  your  leafy  crown, 
That  my  Love's  feet  may  tread  it  down, 

Like  lilies  on  the  liHes  set ; 
My  Love,  whose  lips  are  softer  far 
Than  drowsy  poppy  petals  are, 

And  sweeter  than  the  violet ! 
82 


Verses  and  Translations 

BEFORE   THE    SNOW 
(After  Albert  Glatigny) 

THE  winter  is  upon  us,  not  the  snow, 
I'he  hills  are  etched  on  the  horizon  bare, 
The  skies  are  iron  grey,  a  bitter  air, 
The  meagre  cloudlets  shudder  to  and  fro. 
One  yellow  leaf  the  listless  wind  doth  blow. 

Like  some  strange  butterfly,  unclassed  and  rare. 
Your  footsteps  ring  in  frozen  alleys,  where 
The  black  trees  seem  to  shiver  as  you  go. 

Beyond  lie  church  and  steeple,  with  their  old 
And  rusty  vanes  that  rattle  as  they  veer, 

A  sharper  gust  would  shake  them  from  their  hold, 
Yet  up  that  path,  in  summer  of  the  year, 

And  past  that  melancholy  pile  we  strolled 

To  pluck  wild  strawberries,  with  merry  cheer. 

83 


Verses  and  Translations 


VILLANELLE 
To  Lucia 

APOLLO  left  the  golden  Muse 
And  shepherded  a  mortal's  sheep, 
Theocritus  of  Syracuse ! 

To  mock  the  giant  swain  that  woos 

The  sea-nymph  in  the  sunny  deep, 
Apollo  left  the  golden  Muse. 

Afield  he  drove  his  lambs  and  ewes, 

Where  Milon  and  where  Battus  reap, 
Theocritus  of  Syracuse ! 

To  watch  thy  tunny-fishers  cruise 
Below  the  dim  Sicilian  steep 
Apollo  left  the  golden  Muse. 
84 


1 


Verses  and  Translations 

Yc  twain  did  loiter  in  the  dews, 

Ye  slept  the  swain's  unfever'd  sleep, 
Theocritus  of  Syracuse ! 

That  Time  might  half  with  his  confuse 

Thy  songs,  —  Hke  his,  that  laugh  and  leap, 

Theocritus  of  Syracuse, 

Apollo  left  the  golden  Muse ! 


V 


85 


Verses  and  Translations 


THE   MYSTERY   OF   QUEEN   PERSEPHONE 

St.  Paul  and  the  Devil  disputing  about  the  Immortality  of 
Man's  Soul,  and  St.  Paul  maintaining  the  same,  (from  the 
similitude  of  the  corn-seed  sown,  which  again  sprouteth,)  the 
Devil  refutes  him  by  his  atheistic  subtlety,  but  is  put  to  shame 
by  the  evidence  of  three  witnesses,  namely,  Persephone,  Hela, 
and  St.  Lucy. 

The  Scene  is  Mount  Gerizim 

Intrabtint  Sanctus  Pauhis,  et  Diabolus^  inter  se  de  irnvtortali- 
tate  Animae  disputantes 

Sanctus  Paulus 

YE  say  that  when  a  man  is  dead 
He  never  more  shall  lift  his  head, 
As  doth  the  flower  perished, 
Nor  break  ne  sweet  ne  bitter  bread. 
I  hold  you  much  in  scorn ! 
86 


Verses  and  Translations 

Lo,  if  you  cast  in  earth  a  seed 
That  secmeth  to  be  dead  indeed, 

I  wot  ye  shall  have  corn ; 
And  all  men  shall  rejoice  and  reap : 
And  so  it  fares  with  them  that  sleep, 
The  narrow  house  doth  them  but  keep 

Until  the  judgment  morn. 


DiABOLUS 

There  is  an  end  of  grief  and  mirth, 

There  is  an  end  of  all  things  born, 

And  if  ye  sow  into  the  earth 

A  seed,  ye  shall  have  corn ; 
But  if  ye  sow  its  withered  root 
It  shall  not  bear  you  any  fruit, 
It  will  not  sprout  and  spring  again ; 
And  if  ye  look  to  gather  grain. 
Of  men  mote  ye  have  scorn. 

Man's  body  buried  is  the  sown 

Dead  root,  whose  flower  is  over-blown. 
87 


Verses  and  Translations 

Sanctus  Paulus 

Beshrew  thee  for  thy  subtleties 

That  melt  the  hearts  of  men  with  lies, 

An  evil  task  hath  he  that  tries 

To  still  thy  subtle  tongue  ! 
But  look  ye  round  and  ye  shall  see 
The  Dames  that  Queens  of  dead  men  be, 
I  wot  there  are  no  mo  than  three, 

When  all  is  said  and  sung. 

Hie  intrabunt  et  cantabunt  ires  RegincB 

Persephone 

I  am  the  Queen  Persephone. 

The  lips  of  Grecians  prayed  to  me. 

Saying,  I  give  men  sleep ; 
But  I  would  have  ye  well  to  know 
That  with  me  none  do  slumber  so ; 

But  there  be  some  that  weep, 
And  juster  souls  content  to  dwell 
Among  the  fields  of  asphodel, 

By  the  Nine  Waters  deep. 


Verses  and  Translations 

Hela 

I  am  the  Queen  of  Hela's  House, 
Great  clouds  I  bind  upon  my  brows; 

Night  for  a  covering. 
For  them  I  hold,  I  will  ye  wot 
They  sorrow,  but  they  slumber  not, 

They  have  no  lust  to  sing. 
And  never  comes  a  merry  voice, 
Nor  doth  a  soul  of  them  rejoice 
Until  their  uprising. 

Sancta  Lucia 

I  am  a  Queen  of  Paradise, 

And  who  shall  look  on  me,  I  wis. 

His  spirit  shall  find  grace. 
Whoso  dwells  with  me  walks  along 
In  gardens  glad  with  small  birds'  song, 

A  flowered  and  grassy  place, 
Therein  the  souls  of  blessed  men 
Wait  each,  till  comes  his  love  again, 

To  look  upon  her  face ! 
89 


Verses  and  Translations 

Sanctus  Paulus 

Thou,  Sir  Diabolus,  art  shent, 
I  wot  that  well  ye  might  repent, 
But  till  Midsummer  fall  in  Lent, 

Ye  will  not  cease  to  sin. 
Get  thee  to  dungeon  underground 
And  sit  beside  thy  man,  Mahound. 
I  wot  I  would  ye  twain  were  bound 

For  evermore  therein. 

Fiigiat  Diabolus  ad  locum  suum 


90 


Verses  and  Translations 


STOKER   BILL 

(A  Ballad  of  the  School-Board  Fleet) 


W 


HICH  my  name  is  Stoker  Bill. 
And  a  pleasant  berth  I  fill, 
And  the  care  the  ladies  take  of  me  is  clipping; 
They  have  made  me  pretty  snug, 
With  a  blooming  Persian  rug 
In  the  Ladies'  new  ^Esthetic  Training  Shipping. 


There  's  my  Whistler  pastels,  there, 

As  are  quite  beyond  compare, 
And  a  portrait  of  Miss  Connie  Gilchrist  skipping; 

From  such  art  we  all  expect 

Quite  a  softening  effect. 
In  the  Ladies'  new  /Esthetic  Training  Shipping. 

9^ 


Verses  and  Translations 

And  my  beer  comes  in  a  mug  — 

Such  a  rare  old  Rhodian  jug ! 
And  here  I  sits  aesthetically  sipping ; 

And  I  drinks  my  grog  or  ale  J 

On  a  chair  by  Chippendale  —  * 

We  Ve  no  others  in  our  modern  training  shipping. 


There  's  our  first  Liftenant,  too, 

Is  a  rare  old  (China)  Blue, 
And  you  do  not  very  often  catch  him  tripping 

At  a  monogram  or  mark, 

But  no  more  than  Noah's  ark, 
Does  he  know  the  way  to  manage  this  here  shipping. 


But  the  Boys  ?  the  Boys,  they  stands 
With  white  lilies  in  their  hands. 

And  they  do  not  know  the  meaning  of  a  whipping : 
For  the  whole  delightful  ship  is 
Like  a  dream  of  Lippo  Lippi's, 

More  than  what  you  mostly  see  in  modern  shipping. 

93 


Verses  and  Translations 

Well,  some  coves  they  cuts  up  rough, 

And  they  calls  aesthetics  stuff, 
And  they  says  as  we  've  no  business  to  keep  dipping 

In  the  rates,  but  ladies  likes  it, 

And  our  flag  we  never  strikes  it  — 
Bless  old  England's  new^Esthetic  Training  Shipping ! 


93 


Verses  and  Translations 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY 

cTTCt  KOL  TOLVTOv  otofiai  aOavaTOiCTLV  €v^ea6aL.      ITai/TCs  Se  ©coiv 
)(aT€OV(T   avOpoiTTOL 

Od.  III.  47. 

"y^^NCE  Cagn  was  like  a  father,  kind  and  good, 

\J  But  he  was  spoiled  by  fighting  many  things; 
He  wars  upon  the  lions  in  the  wood, 

And  breaks  the  Thunder-bird's  tremendous  wings; 
But  still  we  cry  to  Him,  —  W^  are  thy  bjvod — 

O  Cagtty  be  merciful  I  and  us  He  brings 
To  herds  of  elands,  and  great  store  of  food, 

And  in  the  desert  opens  water-springs." 

So  Qing,  King  Nqsha's  Bushman  hunter,  spoke, 
Beside  the  camp-fire,  by  the  fountain  fair. 

When  all  were  weary,  and  soft  clouds  of  smoke 
Were  fading,  fragrant,  in  the  twilit  air: 

And  suddenly  in  each  man's  heart  there  woke 
A  pang,  a  sacred  memory  of  prayer. 
94 


Verses  and  Translations 


THE  ODYSSEY 

AS  one  that  for  a  weary  space  has  lain 
Lulled  by  the  song  of  Circe  and  her  wine 
In  gardens  near  the  pale  of  Proserpine, 
Where  that  ^aean  isle  forgets  the  main, 
And  only  the  low  lutes  of  love  complain. 
And  only  shadows  of  wan  lovers  pine, 
As  such  an  one  were  glad  to  know  the  brine 
Salt  on  his  Hps,  and  the  large  air  again,  — 
So  gladly,  from  the  songs  of  modern  speech 
Men  turn,  and  see  the  stars,  and  feel  the  free 
Shrill  wind  beyond  the  close  of  heavy  flowers, 
And  through  the  music  of  the  languid  hours. 
They  hear  like  ocean  on  a  western  beach 
The  surge  and  thunder  of  the  Odyssey. 


Verses  and  Translations 


IDEAL 

Suggested  by  a  female  head  in  wax^  of  unknown  date,  but  sup- 
posed to  be  either  of  the  best  Greek  age,  or  a  work  of  Raphael  or 
Leonardo.     It  is  now  iji  the  Lille  Museum. 

AH,  mystic  child  of  Beauty,  nameless  maid. 
Dateless  and  fatherless,  how  long  ago, 
A  Greek,  with  some  rare  sadness  overweighed, 
Shaped  thee,  perchance,  and  quite  forgot  his  woe ! 
Or  Raphael  thy  sweetness  did  bestow 
While  magical  his  fingers  o'er  thee  strayed, 

Or  that  great  pupil  of  Verrochio 
Redeemed  thy  still  perfection  from  the  shade 

That  hides  all  fair  things  lost,  and  things  unborn. 
Where  one  has  fled  from  me,  that  wore  thy  grace, 
And  that  grave  tenderness  of  thine  awhile, 

Nay,  still  in  dreams  I  see  her,  but  her  face 
Is  pale,  is  wasted  with  a  touch  of  scorn, 
And  only  on  thy  lips  I  find  her  smile. 

96  » 


I II III'!'  IIII'I  llj|lijll|ll|l||l!ll!  nil  \\ 


B     000  002  430     7 


